


Call it Sentiment

by shirleyholmes



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Angst and Humor, Angsty Schmoop, Bottom Sherlock, Explicit Sexual Content, First Time, Kink Meme, M/M, Marriage, POV John Watson, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn, Post Reichenbach, Reichenbach Feels, Schmoop, Smut, Top John, Virgin Sherlock, kink bingo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-18
Updated: 2013-03-18
Packaged: 2017-12-05 16:29:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/725402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shirleyholmes/pseuds/shirleyholmes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt: Sherlock is still a virgin on his and John's wedding night. John thinks this is the hottest thing ever.<br/>.........</p><p>"You're not allowed to be ridiculously gentle and soppy just because of this," Sherlock grumbled half-heartedly.<br/>"I will be whatever I fucking well please," John informed him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Call it Sentiment

**Author's Note:**

> This is actually an older fill from the kink meme that I'd forgotten about completely. Reading it now, I realize it does have a few similarities to "Mercy", which I wrote 2 months later. I like to think it's the same John and Sherlock, just facing slightly alternate scenarios/timelines of first time sex and Reichenbach grief. 
> 
> Disclaimer: My sincerest apologies to the Sherlock cast and Moffatiss. I'd apologize to Doyle too, if I thought he gave half a fuck, but I don't think he ever did.

They were kissing as they stumbled over the threshold to the bedroom. Sherlock pinned John against the wall and forced his tongue inside the doctor's mouth, made him moan around it, John slipped a hand around the back of Sherlock's neck and they pressed together against the wall, giddy with adrenaline and happiness.

John was the first to break off, his mouth twitching with a smile. Sherlock pouted, his hands tightening around John's waist, wanting to pull him back, but John merely chuckled.

"The bed, Sherlock? Probably don't want this to be over before it starts-" Though that didn't actually sound half bad at the moment, a wild, rough encounter against the wall- No. 

Slowly, John reminded himself. After all, they hadn't had sex, not yet. It was an odd thing, an anomaly, in this day and age, to be married and never have, but what did they ever do that was normal? Kissing, yes, making out and clothes being torn off and discarded in the hallway, all of that yes and yes, but never had they actually done the deed.

It was irrelevant, of course. John had known, from the moment 2 years ago that Sherlock Holmes stepped over the doorway to 221B and back into his life, that he was never letting him go again. Not that it had been easy. There had been awkward conversations and anger and tears at first, and there had been months where he'd thought they might never address it, that they'd continue right where they'd left off and bury this terrible event and all the hurt of it between them. 

Until that night, 10 months ago, when John had been nearly shot and Sherlock had panicked, had hit the unfortunate criminal again and again with the barrel of his gun, until Lestrade pulled him off, assured him John was fine, that it was just a graze.

And the moment when they'd reached home and John had put a gentle hand on Sherlock's shoulder, thinking to comfort, and had instead found himself pressed into the wall, Sherlock's desperate hands running down his face and body, pushing under his clothes, as if reassuring himself that John really was here. 

That had been the first time. And there were many times after that, mostly just cuddling on the couch and sweet kisses. Occasionally more, but that was always after cases, always hurried and desperate, before Sherlock pulled away and shut himself in his room, leaving John aching with more than just sexual frustration. John had figured Sherlock just didn't want sex, didn't need it and that was okay too, because it was Sherlock and John would take him anyway he chose to give himself.

"We should get married," he'd suggested, one day, as they idly lounged on the sofa.

"Why?"

"Hospital visits, bills- it's convenient." John had thought this through. He knew how to get Sherlock to agree.

Sherlock had nodded. "Makes sense," he'd mused, before allowing himself to be pulled in for a deep kiss.  
...

And now they were here. The wedding had been a terrible confection of dancing and aristocrats and rich food, soppy sentiment and uncomfortable clothing, all put together at the insistence of Mycroft and Mummy Holmes, with a bit of help from the currently sober Harriet. 

Miserable. But worth it, for this. For Sherlock standing before him in a beautifully tailored suit, his wild hair refusing to be tamed even today, of all days, and the knowledge that this clever, gorgeous man was his.

Yes, John was admittedly a bit infatuated. 

Sherlock kissed his way down John's throat, ran a finger under the military collar of his uniform and hell, John was already aroused. "Sherlock- Let's just-"

"I don't see why it matters," Sherlock growled. "Here or on the bed."

"Well, maybe I want making love to my HUSBAND on our wedding night to be special, is that too much to ask?"

John had meant it lightly, but he could feel how tense Sherlock had suddenly become. "No. No you're not doing this to me. Don't leave. What's wrong?"

But Sherlock wasn't meeting his eyes anymore.

"Hey," John said firmly, sliding a hand under Sherlock's chin and forcing him to look down. "If you're not comfortable, we don't need to do anything-"

"Irene Adler was right," Sherlock blurted out suddenly.

"Sorry?"

"She called me the virgin. She was- she was right." 

Sherlock dropped his hands and stepped back slightly. John swallowed.

"You're serious, Sherlock? Never? Not even with-"

"No one," Sherlock snapped. "Didn't you hear me the first time?"

"Well, you always seemed alright with kissing-"

"A quick study. A handful of times is more than enough data. And it sometimes proves useful for extracting information."

"Right. Put that on the list of things you're not allowed to do anymore."

"Kissing?"

"Kissing people for information who are not me," John clarified. He raised a hand to his own head and ruffled his short hair. "So I suppose then, you don't want to- which is fine, by the way-"

"No. No, I want to." Sherlock bit his lip. "I mean, if you- if you would-" He cleared this throat. "I'd wanted for you to be my first, if that is still- fine." 

" Fine? Jesus, if you just asked me to take your virginity, that might be the hottest thing I've heard ever-" Not what John had meant to say, but it slipped past his filters. His ears turned bright red as he realized just what had popped out of his mouth. "Oh shit, I didn't mean- It's not like a kink or anything-"

Sherlock snorted. "Over-rated, I always thought," he said, falling spectaculary short of the dismissive tone he was no doubt aiming for.

John looked at Sherlock, saw the nervousness written in his downcast eyes and the relief in the slope of his shoulders. He saw the deep breaths and the mauled lower lip and something clicked. "Oh. You thought I'd judge you for not knowing, is that it? Dammit, Sherlock- If you had just said- you don't need to always know everything-"

"I should have had the data," Sherlock snapped back. "I should have been able to gather the information, in uni or somewhere, but I was- I was frightened and the idea seemed frankly nauseating until now-"

"No- No, no." John stepped forward and tenderly raised his hands to Sherlock face, his thumbs resting on those sharp cheekbones. "You have no idea," he said thickly. "If I had heard that you'd used your body for a bloody experiment-"

"Why? As long as you practice safe techniques, I assure you-"

"Shh…" John pressed his finger delicately to Sherlock's full pout, drawing him down. "Call it sentiment," he offered, carding his fingers through Sherlock's thick hair.

"You're not allowed to be ridiculously gentle and soppy just because of this," Sherlock grumbled half-heartedly. 

"I will be whatever I fucking well please," John informed him. He ran his fingers down to the back of Sherlock's neck, stroking lightly at the exposed skin above the collar, before sharpening his voice in command. "Understood?"

Sherlock shuddered slightly. "Yes, Captain."

John bit back a smug grin. Damned if that didn't always work. 

"Good. Now, I'm going to take off your clothes, piece by piece. And then I'm going to take /you/ apart until you're an absolute whimpering mess, if that's completely alright with you."

"Fuck," Sherlock managed, his eyes blown wide. 

"Precisely," John agreed. His eyes softened and he spread his fingers, cupping the back of Sherlock's neck. "Trust me?"

Sherlock took in a quick breath. "Of course." 

"Good. Then let me handle this one, okay?"

"Yes."

Still, Sherlock looked incredibly uncertain, his eyes too large in the dim light and John knew he'd have to take him out of his head, stop him from analyzing every feeling and emotion. That's why, he realized, their previous interactions had all been brutal and quick. Sherlock needed to keep himself one step ahead of his great mind.

Well, it was about time that changed. John kissed him properly, hands tangling in his hair, his tongue darting in to explore the hot wetness inside that soft cupid's bow. Sherlock groaned, his hands fluttering indecisively over his own buttons, as if looking to tear off the material in between them. John caught both of his long hands in his own and drew back.

"I want to undress you," he said, their joined hands clasped to his chest. 

Sherlock indicated his permission with a tilt of his head and his hands flopped obediently to his sides.

"Relax, love," John whispered. He undid the bow tie Sherlock had only reluctantly agreed to wear and slid off the expensive blazer. Sherlock closed his eyes and let his hands loosely grasp John's waist as John slowly undid his top buttons. John lipped the exposed skin, exploring it in a way he'd never gotten the chance to, his fingers following the line down until the last button came free.

He put his hands on Sherlock's shoulders, pushed the shirt down so that it hung loosely off of his upper arms and paused to admire the man in front of him.

"Christ, Sherlock, you're gorgeous," he blurted out, his fingers running down the thinly muscled chest, the pale skin. Sherlock's mouth opened slightly, his eyes blinking as he tried to take in every movement of John's fingers, every touch of his lips. 

"Don't be- ridiculous," he said, but John's mouth had found it's way to his nipple, his tongue flicking out over the raised skin and he tilted his head back again, a soft moan escaping from his lips.

John's hands went to Sherlock's belt, his mouth working it's way back up to to that long neck and jutting collar bone. Sherlock shrugged off the shirt and arched into his kisses, clearly craving the touch and John drank in the sight of his detective, uncharacteristically innocent and needy. 

"I'm not, fuck, do you have any idea what you look like-"

"John-"

John dropped to his knees and undid the rest of the belt, slid off Sherlock's trousers and Sherlock just stared at him in a kind of shock, hands bracing themselves against John's shoulders as he stepped out of the last of his clothing. John's hands gripped his waist as he looked up the length of Sherlock's naked body, before nuzzling into the coarse hair at the base of his belly. 

"Gorgeous," he said again, honestly, and then Sherlock was dragging him up and pushing him against the wall. He fisted his hands into John's uniform, kissing him sloppily and John ran his hands down the expanse of his back, lower and lower-

Sherlock stilled, his body stiffening as John grasped his arse and pulled him closer. 

"You still want-"

"Stop asking-" Sherlock growled back. He pressed closer and John could feel the evidence of Sherlock's arousal against his own stomach, the slight wetness seeping through the material and he had to force himself not to push Sherlock against the bed, take him right there. 

"I need to prepare you-" he barely got out and then Sherlock descended on him again, nipping his neck.

"Do it-"

"The bed-"

"NOW," Sherlock demanded and John knew that if he forced them to move Sherlock might snap back and begin over-thinking in the few moments it took.

He reached blindly towards the side table and grasped a bottle of what he hoped fervently was lube. Sherlock rutted against him impatiently, his legs in between John's and John could barely concentrate. He slicked his fingers, and Sherlock stilled again when he reached the crack of his arse. He slipped a finger in, felt the tip of the hole.

"You're going to be so fucking tight-"

"Yes-" 

John rubbed Sherlock's shoulder soothingly, ignoring how unbearably aroused he was. There was something about the blatant intimacy of Sherlock's naked body against his clothed one, the need to protect this man, because he was his now and wasn't that a heady thought,

He pressed further and now Sherlock wasn't kissing him anymore, they were simply exchanging breath, air heavy as time slowed around them, mouth against mouth, as John ringed the muscle and dipped the tip of his finger in and out, teasing mercilessly. It was a bit too soon to slip in another finger, but he did it anyways, the blunt tip breaching that tight, hot space. Sherlock gasped and leaned his head down against John's forehead, eyes vulnerable and lost and it wasn't an expression John had ever seen on his face.

Once. He had seen it on his face once and memory came back in full force, as if he was back there again, shielding his eyes from the sun as Sherlock stepped onto the ledge. No. 

"I'm going to take care of you, Sherlock, always, whatever you need, just-" he wasn't making sense, he knew it, but he fuck, he needed this man- his husband for God's sakes- Never again. 

Sherlock ground against the fingers he'd inserted. "John, I- I want you to-"

"Anything love." 

"Fuck me. Please. Just fuck me." Sherlock was pleading and John knew then that he'd felt it too, that spasm of horror that they might never have made it here. He tightened his grip against Sherlock's body, the nakedness of it against his uniform, the clenching of Sherlock's muscle against his fingers, the sense of loss barely manageable despite the contact and the the need was unbearable, to take Sherlock and slam into his body, possess it so that he could never leave. John withdrew his slick fingers with a wet pop and Sherlock hissed at the loss.

"Bed, Sherlock. Now." John's voice brokered no argument and Sherlock obediently stepped backwards, laying himself on his back, feet flat on the floor as he watched John strip efficiently. John stepped forwards and Sherlock parted his legs, let John slide in between and lean over, so that he could stroke his face.

"Don't," Sherlock begged and John knew exactly what he was talking about. He pressed his nose to Sherlock's pulse and inhaled sharply, breathing in the unique scent at his neck, tobacco and chemicals and soap and sweat and he could feel the prickling behind his eyes.  
"I can't help it love, I just-" John's voice wasn't as steady as he'd have liked. "I thought I was over it but I don't think, really, I'll ever be able to forget losing you." 

Sherlock's hands came up to slip around his bare waist. "More," he breathed against John's neck. "I missed you more. You don't know- you do know- we're not supposed to be apart, it's wrong without you." Sherlock dragged him up further and their limbs intertwined. "I need you to take me, please, John. Please, just make this alright, John, my John-"

Their mouths met as the desperation became too much, and there was salt mixed into the kisses now, along with a wanton, primal need and John was on his knees, Sherlock before him, writhing, cock achingly hard and he knew he couldn't hold out any longer. He took Sherlock's legs over his shoulder and lined himself up, pushing in as slowly as he could bear.

Sherlock fisted his hands into the bedsheets, head thrown all the way back, eyes closed, the faint outline of tears on his face and John impulsively reached for his hand, clenching it tight against his heart. 

Sherlock's eyes flew open and took in the sight of John, buried into him. "Full," he mumbled. He canted his hips insistently up against John, demanding more. "Move. Now, please."

And John was fucking him, the tight flesh clenching around him as he claimed Sherlock, who whimpered and folded impossibly so that he could wrap his arms around John's neck and kiss him again and again. 

"I want you, just you," he repeated between kisses. "I want you-" 

John wrenched him back by the hair and left soft kisses on his neck and chin, mouthed his jaw line-

"John, more," Sherlock was sweating as John pulled in and out, angling so that he could go in deeper and John had meant to be more gentle, but he couldn't, because there was a raw edge to this that they'd fooled themselves into thinking had gone away. He worried the skin at Sherlock's throat, biting until a bruise began to form, evidence that was more proof than their wedding rings.

"Yes, yes-"

"Touch yourself for me, Sherlock," John whispered. He could feel the hot tension in his belly, the warmth of Sherlock surrounding him and knew how close he was. 

Sherlock snaked a hand down between them and John looked down, saw the elegant hand wrapped around that long cock, the gentle slide where he was buried in this beautiful body and Sherlock was watching him, mouth open and John kissed him.

"Come for me, love," he whispered against the side of Sherlock's mouth. "Let me see you." And Sherlock arched and John held him, his own orgasm shuddering through him seconds later as he wrapped his arms tightly around the younger man until they both stopped shaking. 

He pressed one last bruising kiss to Sherlock's lips before pulling out, intending to clean them both up. But Sherlock had other ideas and he tugged him around until he was flush against John's chest. John sat up and pulled him onto his lap, leaning his cheek against Sherlock's soft hair.

"I love you," he said. "Sherlock- I love you so much."

Sherlock snuffled against his neck. "I'm sorry, John," he whispered and John pressed him closer.

"You're mine now, Sherlock. You're not allowed- not allowed to leave. Promise me."

He could feel the soft turn of Sherlock's smile against his skin. "I can't promise to be yours now."

"Why?"

"Semantics. I was always yours to begin with, so therefore I can't promise-"

John tugged his hair so that his head fell back and covered his lips with his own.

"Mine, Sherlock."

Sherlock let his lips fall open under John's and raised his own hands to John's hair.

"Always," he agreed.

........

**Author's Note:**

> One of these days I'll branch out from schmoopy, bottom!Sherlock PWPs, but clearly this isn't that day.
> 
> EDIT: Did this get rec-ed somewhere? I'd love to know if it did!


End file.
